


The Mystery of a Deserted Backyard

by Iva1201



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Case Fic, Drug Use, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4985923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iva1201/pseuds/Iva1201
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock woke, hours later, it was day again and the backyard was empty. Instead of a dying or more likely a dead man lying just next to him, there was nothing aside of a small faint blood stain on the ground to his side now. Sherlock shook his head in disbelief, closed and reopened his eyes, but the result was still the same. Instead of a dying man or rather a cold turning corpse, the asphalt of the small abandoned backyard was deserted aside of his own body coming out of the 7% solution haze.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mystery of a Deserted Backyard

A man clothed entirely in black peered inside of the backyard of one of the row houses inhabited during the terms by London’s numerous uni students, now standing empty, however. Validating the emptiness of the house and its premises, he turned back and called: “The air is free. Bring it here.”

Another two men, equally in black from head to toe, entered the backyard, carrying a role of carpet. “Where to exactly, boss?”

“Next to the door. Where else would you put a roll of carpet when the inhabitants are not there?”

“Aye,” the bulkier man agreed and he and his companion crossed the remaining few yards and leaned the carpet roll just next to the back door of the house. 

“Done? Smashing. Then back to the car with the two of you, we need to deal with the business down at the Thames now.”

ooooo

The Cocaine must have been stronger this time. Instead of clearing his mind and enjoying the rush of the drug, Sherlock felt weak and about to collapse. Knowing he might faint or at the very least fall on his nose any moment now, he left the main street where helpful passer-bys might call for an ambulance in such an event, alarming his overbearing brother of his whereabouts in the process, and hid in a deserted residential street nearby. Ironically, during the term, there would be likely plenty of medical students living in the area, as it was favourited by students, but now, in high summer, it was desolate. 

Not in the mood to accidentally fall in the clutches of his brother’s minions, Sherlock turned to the backstreet and tried couple of gates if any would let him into a backyard where he could sleep the Cocaine off. The weather was warm and skies empty of any clouds, so he should be safe, sleeping outdoors, as long as the house and backyard he selected was indeed uninhabited for the moment.

Finally, the ninth – or was it tenth already? – gate gave in and Sherlock stumbled into a backyard, deserted except of a roll of a no longer new carpet standing just next to the back door to the house. Hmm, empty for now then, but the inhabitants should return shortly if they ordered their friends or perhaps parents to leave the carpet here. Friends, not parents, Sherlock corrected himself immediately; parents would have had house keys borrowed from their children.

Right then, no need to attract attention, he thought, and his eyes searched the backyard for a safe spot to hide in for the next few hours. Finally, they stopped on a former garden shelter in the corner of the backyard, clearly unused these days, and Sherlock wobbled to it, easily breaking inside and, closing the door behind him on the last coherent thought, he curled by the wall opposite the entrance. He should be quite safe here, he thought as he fell asleep.

ooooo

It was dark when Sherlock awoke again to a strange noise coming from the yard. It took the young man a moment to realise where he was and why – the memories of the previous day uncomfortably hazy and he still not feeling quite himself. Curiosity taking the best of him, he stumbled up to his legs and peered to the yard through the dusty windows of the shelter. The yard seemed empty, no light was on in the house or any of the neighbouring dwellings, and even the street lamp seemed to not be working in the area.

The strange scratching noise was coming from the general area of the back door of the house, Sherlock was finally able to place the sound. He couldn’t make any human silhouette, however, the only recognisable item in the dim moon light being the role of the carpet. 

In retrospective, it was not his cleverest idea, but Sherlock, possibly still under the influence of the drug he had taken earlier, decided a proper investigation was in order and left the safety of his shelter. On unsteady legs, he slowly approached the back of the house, leaning for support on the brick outer walls of the yard as he walked.

Then it happened, all too fast for Sherlock to be able to later properly recall what occurred and how. Reconstructing the night later, he came to the conclusion that a stray dog – or perhaps a large cat – found the carpet, and started to scratch it, probably attracted by its strange smell, disturbing Sherlock’s rest and pulling him out of his den. Once Sherlock came too close to the house for the comfort of the creature, it jumped at him, protecting its pray. Sherlock, in pure instinct, must have kicked the creature away from him, misbalancing them both in the process. Trying to support himself on the carpet role, he sent it to the ground, the carpet rolling out and revealing its bloody contents – a corpse of a man with bloodied chest – or perhaps a dying man wounded to the chest as Sherlock could have sworn that one of the arms of the supposed corpse moved.

In deep shock, Sherlock took in the man/corpse on his side, he himself landing on the ground just next to it once the carpet let go beneath his weight, and promptly fainted, out of exhaustion and general weakening of his transport rather than the shock itself.

ooooo

 

When Sherlock woke, hours later, it was day again and the backyard was empty. Instead of a dying or more likely a dead man lying just next to him, there was nothing aside of a small faint blood stain on the ground to his side now. Sherlock shook his head in disbelief, closed and reopened his eyes, but the result was still the same. Instead of a dying man or rather a cold turning corpse, the asphalt of the small abandoned backyard was deserted aside of his own body coming out of the 7% solution haze. And, to make things even more confusing for him, he could feel the pull of drying blood beneath his nose, so the blood stain on the asphalt might have even been his own. He raised his hand to touch the tip of his nose, and indeed, it came back red stained. 

A hallucination then? Or just a dream? Sherlock didn’t know and it bothered him, much more than he would have ever expected. Perhaps Mycroft was right and he should cease with the experiment? Living rough and indulging in the 7% solution might have brought him some useful contacts for his intended career but he had grown tired of the street life of lately. Perhaps this might be the last push he had needed to return to his own world? Get rid of the habit, acquire a flat and start his consulting career? Or possibly just the two latter and keep the habit? As long as he did not inject too much, he could enjoy it even while working. Many bankers and managers did after all, he knew very well. They just usually snored it in, instead of using the liquid form. A waste, Sherlock thought, considering the limitations of the other than his favourite form of using.

Well then, let’s start with the flat. Mycroft would no doubt not mind to pay the first few rents for him, as long as Sherlock kept out of the streets as his overprotective brother had insisted on for a few months now. But get sober first, Sherlock, before you visit him. He also did not approve of your using, after all, and no need to alert him that you had decided to keep the habit.

There would be enough time to solve the mystery of the deserted backyard and the corpse that had disappeared (or never existed?) then…


End file.
